


Glass

by DizzyDrea



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grief is so paralyzing, so numbing that she can hardly breathe. But he is here, and suddenly she knows she’s not alone, never alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I did not, I repeat not, set out to write smut. However, that’s what came out. I sincerely hope, though, that I have written this piece in a tasteful manner that won’t make you blush (too much). I have been in this moment, so I know what it feels like, and I hope I’ve been able to capture it well. I have purposefully left out names and specific descriptions so that you may imagine whomever you wish.

She hears the sound of glass shattering, and she thinks that it’s an odd sound, out of place, even in the City of the Ancients. But when she looks down at her feet, there’s nothing there but a wide expanse of empty floor. And boots; dark boots and dark pants on legs moving her direction.

And then strong arms surround her, bringing warmth, comfort, familiarity. Except not, because this is a line they do not cross. She knows that he is looking beyond her, in a silent exchange with the others, but she doesn’t look, because she can’t. Can’t bear to see the pity she knows is there.

She closes her eyes against the pain and bitter loneliness, and realizes that it’s her heart that’s shattered. Laughter bubbles up in her throat at the irony of that, but she tamps it down. Wouldn’t want anyone to see her lose control. Not that it matters much now.

She can feel him turning her, and she goes, because she can’t think right now, and wouldn’t know where to go even if she could. They move through the halls of the old city, but if there are people there, she doesn’t see them. She can’t see anything anymore, which she thinks might be a good thing. Those pitying looks she can’t bear, after all.

They stop, and she finally looks up. They are standing outside the door of her quarters. She doesn’t remember how they got there, and she thinks that should bother her, but it doesn’t. The door slides open, and she feels herself being propelled inside. The room is both familiar and alien all at once, and for just an instant, she thinks she’s in the wrong place.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

His voice brings her back for just a moment, and she finally lifts her eyes up to his face. His dark eyes are troubled, his brow furrowed. She reaches a hand up to caress his cheek, and her eyes drop to his lips, full, rosy, dewy from the tongue that’s just slipped over them. She longs to follow its path. She tugs his head down and kisses him, hardly knowing she’s done so.

He pushes back, breaking the kiss. She can see confusion on his face, but she doesn’t care. She tugs again, but feels his resistance.

“Please,” she begs on a whisper. “I need to feel…something.”

His heart breaks, just a little, she can see it in his eyes. He reaches out, the mirror of her actions, and pulls her to him, crushing his lips over hers. Her heart rate quickly accelerates at the feel of his lips sliding over hers. When his tongue reaches out and brushes over her lips, she feels her knees go weak. But his arms are there in the next instant, holding her tightly. She hears a noise, and it takes her a moment to realize that she’s the one making the sound – a low moan of pleasure that spurs her into action.

She reaches up and tugs at the shirt covering his torso, releasing it from the waistband of his pants, exposing the skin of his abdomen. Gently, almost reverently, she caresses him, feeling the skin under her fingers ripple from the sudden contact.

He pulls back, and she can see him searching her face, but she knows what he will find. She wants this, needs this. He must find what he’s looking for, because he hooks his fingers under his shirt and sends it flying across the room. She admires the exposed skin. Nothing she hasn’t seen before, but now she is free to touch it, and touch she does. She runs her hands up over his chest, feeling the short, silky hairs slip through her fingers. She inhales sharply at the sensation, as desire blooms to life inside her from so simple an act.

He reaches out and peels her clothing away, and she revels in the look of admiration he wears as each inch of new flesh is exposed. Soon she stands naked before him, but before she can form a coherent thought, his hands are caressing her, sending tingles of pleasure through her whole body.

Slowly, gently, he maps her every curve and she thinks that never in her life has she been worshipped the way he is worshipping her body now. His lips follow his hands over her torso, across her breasts, lower, lower, until he finds her center, and she cries out from the pleasurable sensations coursing through her.

She reaches out and pulls him up to face her, tugging his belt free, and then his pants and boots join his shirt, and he is gloriously naked before her, muscles rippling under taut skin. She sweeps her eyes over the length of him, from feet that have marched for hours, up legs toned and muscular, over the narrow V of his hips, across his chest and finally to his face. There she finds desire burning brightly, and she falls into his arms once more.

Gently he lays her down on the bed, covering her with his body in the next instant. But instead of simply taking her, as she expects, he resumes his worship of her, raining kisses and caresses over her face, her neck, her shoulders, her chest. It leaves her feeling cherished, and a single tear, followed by another, rolls down her cheek.

He pulls back when he feels the moisture, but instead of speaking or walking away as she thinks he once might have, he kisses her eyes, her cheeks, kissing away the tears in a way so tender that it only brings more.

She clings tightly to him, pulling him closer still, urging him with her body to press on. Slowly, achingly slowly, he moves to join with her, burying himself deep within her in one smooth stroke. She gasps as the sensations wash over her.

He pauses then, allowing her time to adjust, and then his hips begin to move as he pushes into her, deeper with each stroke until she cries out once more. Passion escalates as he drives into her, over and over. But for all the pleasurable sensations racing through her, she simply cannot let herself feel what she so desperately needs. She is both demanding and loathing the moment of life-affirming release, fighting and welcoming it in the same instant.

“It’s okay,” he whispers in her ear. “I’m here. You can let go.” Her eyes fly to his, but instead of the pity she expects, they are clouded with passion, desire, love, and it is enough to send her over the edge with him.

And this time, when she shatters, she knows she’s not alone. He is with her, around her, inside her. Ragged breathing fills the silence as he rolls off her, pulling her close to his side.

Without warning, the dam breaks and her tears finally come. The grief is so paralyzing, so numbing that she can hardly breathe. But he is here, and suddenly she knows she’s not alone, never alone.

The realization brings fresh tears, but these are tears of gratitude, relief, love. He holds her until she is spent, and she burrows deeper into his embrace, hoping against hope that she will never have to leave this place, these arms.

“Things will be different now,” he says quietly, kissing her forehead.

“Things are already different,” she replies, and she knows it’s true.

This one act has changed things for them as surely as what drove them to it changed all their lives. But for the life of her, she can’t bring herself to regret it. Just to be sure, though, she pushes herself up to look him in the eye.

“Thank you,” she says, stroking his face, worshipping him with her eyes the way he worshipped her with his hands.

He reaches up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, giving her a ghost of a smile. “You’re welcome,” he whispers.

She sees faint sadness in his eyes, and she wants to erase it. She knows this would have happened sooner or later, and she thinks he knows that too, but still she needs to say it out loud.

“Perhaps next time I will try not to cry,” she says slyly. His answering smile tells her he understands, and she settles back into his arms.

She knows now that her heart is made of glass, but with each new day it is tempered, made stronger not just by the pain that must come, but by the people that come as well. She knows one day it may break again, but she also knows that, just as he was today, he will always be there to help her pick up the pieces and put them back together.

And as she drifts off to sleep, her heart swells. She knows the grief will still be there in the morning. She knows the sad looks and whispers will still be there. But she also knows he will still be there, protecting her, catching her when she falls to pieces. And she is glad.

~Finis


End file.
